Rough Scan
"THE
LORDS"
YESTERDAY morning Betty an’ me
were in Argyll Street, an’ seeing a great crood I spiered at a big laddie
what it was aboot, an’ he said it wis a wild beast show coming in. Sae
I got Betty planted up against a lamp-post tae wait for the procession.
In a wee I hears a great crying "They’re coming!" "they’re coming!"
Betty grippit me by the airm, as she whispered, "Gudesake, Jeems,
I hope nane o’ the teegurs ‘ll break oot." Seeing a sweetie shop
handy tae rin intae, I whispered tae her that there was nae fear; an’
getting a bit lassie planted before me as a sop tae throw tae the
teegurs,
I waited patiently.
First cam’ aboot ten raws o’ heartbroken-looking
men, unco prood like, tho’, as if the crood wis gethered tae dae honour
tae them; then cam’ twa or three thoosand ragamuffins. I never thocht
Glesca contained hauf sae mony ne’er-do-weels as was there. They were
nae doot hurryin’ awa doon tae get in before the crush, altho’, if they
liket, they micht hae taen—no’ only the show, but the haill Trongate by
storm. Then cam’ an extraor’nar fine man in kilts, wi’ a big feather hat,
followed by twelve braw fallows playin’ the bagpipes an’ drums; an’ then
a wheen polismen, a’ wi’ new blue suits an’ white gloves, wi’ three prisoners
atween them—fine, weel-dressed gentlemen they were, wi’ axes. Next there
appeared the Provost an’ Bailies, a’ in coaches an’ cocked hats, wi’
postillions.
It struck me it maun be an extraor’nar
fine show whan they cood get the Provost an’ Bailies tae turn oot in the
procession, till I heard somebody sayin’ it was "the Lords."
Weel a weel, I thocht tae mysel’, it was strange that sich a palaver wis
made aboot tryin’ a wheen folk for stealin’ pocket naipkins. Then cam’
folk mounted on omnibus horses, with cockit hats, tootlin’ awa’ on bits
o’ brass trumpets, an playin’ an Italian tune, a gentleman said—I kent
it was nae Scotch tune, onyway; it micht hae been a Chinese ane for ony
music there wis in it tae me. Then six or seven carriages, fu’ o’ judges
wi’ wigs on, a’ lauchin’ awa’ an' no seeming tae care a straw for the
sorrowfu’ wark they were tae be engaged in. Then a wheen mair pegs; then
the fower executioners wi’ their axes a’ ready—weel sharpened, nae
doot.
Betty said tae me she thocht they hung the folk; but I said, "My
woman, they used tae dae that, but noo, ye ken, it’s a’ dune in private,
an’ I suppose they think cuttin’ their heids aff is the quickest way;
at onyrate, there they are; ye'll surely believe yer ain een," an’
she at once agreed wi’ me.
But the maist sorrowfu’ o't was tae come.
In a fine big coach, wi’ fewer horses, sat twa respectable auld gentlemen,
weel put on, wi’ lang white hair. They must hae been guilty o’ some fearfu’
crime, for they were guarded roon an' roon wi’ sodgers wi’ fixed bayonets,
in case they wid rin awa’. My heart wis sair for them ga'in doon tae be
tried—for their lives, likely—an’ them auld enough tae be gran'faithers
—sae innocent like, tae, that I wis
feart, BAILIE, that they had made some mistake an’ grippit the wrang men. But
it’s a sad worl’, BAILIE; ye canna trust yer next door neebor.
I wis sae heart-sair that I got Betty
awa’ in tae a British Workman Public-hoose, an' ca’ing for twa cups o’
tea an' twa cookies, I turned my face tae the back window, whaur there
wis nae eye tae see me bit twa cats—a red ane an' a white ane—sittin’
on the slates o’ the washin’-hoose, all I wept for puir frail humanity.
I can add nae mair, but I hope tae see
in the papers the twa puir auld gentlemen hae either get aff wi’ not proven,"
or else, on accoont o’ their years, wi' a sma’ punishment with-oot hard
labour.